


A Thousand Webs to Unweave

by Pawpels



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Post-Star Wars: A New Dawn, Pre-Canon, Pre-Star Wars: Rebels, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:03:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27811972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawpels/pseuds/Pawpels
Summary: Only recently partnered in their fight against the Empire, Hera Syndulla and Kanan Jarrus are sent undercover to investigate an "Intergalactic Pleasure Cruise" for members of the Imperial Senate. Without the aid of even the most basic weapons or technology at their disposal, Hera and Kanan must unravel the potentially dangerous plot aboard this ship--all while pretending to be a happily married couple navigating the intricacies of social politics.
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus & Hera Syndulla, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 9
Kudos: 42





	1. Important Matters Discussed Briefly

"An intergalactic 'pleasure cruise' for the senators of over five hundred systems?" Hera repeated. "Well, that's not at all suspicious."

"I'm glad you agree," the garbled voice of Fulcrum came across the communicator. "Because we're in desperate need of someone on the inside who can figure out exactly what the Empire is planning before it goes down."

"You want us to spy on the ship? I suppose we could try to get hired on the crew…. I might have a connection in the vacation travel industry who could put in a word for us."

"Actually," Fulcrum said carefully, "we received this tip from Senator Mirabee Ditré of the Lithenian System. She's… sympathetic to our cause, but even more than that she's extremely fearful of an attack on her life."

"As she should be."

"I don't mean to speak ill of the senator, as this works out to our advantage, but her paranoia has made her rather ineffective council—since she has yet to attend a single meeting of the Galactic Senate."

"Meaning nobody knows what she looks like."

"Exactly." Hera could hear the hint of a smile in Fulcrum's voice.

"Perfect. Then I'll take the senator's place on board and contact Kanan to pick me up once I've learned everything I can about this 'Pleasure Cruise.'"

"You've got the gist of it, but there are a few key details that will complicate that plan. First, the Empire has insisted this will be a 'technological holiday," meaning you will be scanned for any communication devices. Even short-range comlinks and cam-droids are banned. Whatever is going down, the Empire wants there to be absolutely no record of it."

"Jeez, Fulcrum," she quipped dryly, "You didn't mention this was a suicide mission."

"My hope… is that it won't be. We've arranged to have C1-10P transported in the cargo-hold along with other 'spare parts.' Once you're on board, you should be able to locate him and reopen communications with a nearby cell for possible extraction."

"Excellent. Chopper won't be pleased, but after all the fighting that's been going on inside the Ghost this week, I'll be glad to have some time to myself."

"Thaaaaat… would be the other change…" Fulcrum winced, "Senator Ditré's Imperial file is severely lacking, to be sure, but besides her race listed as a fellow Twi'lek, the only other information the Empire has on her is that she never goes anywhere without her human husband."

"You're kidding."

"Is there a problem?" Fulcrum asked.

"No, no problem," Hera sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sure Kanan will be thrilled."

"I've sent you a data transmission with all the details you'll need for this mission, including where and when to board, where to send Chopper, and further information about Senator Ditré's home planet of Behania, as well as the other planetoids in that system. Best of luck, and may the Force be with you."

Hera nodded solemnly as she switched off the transmission. From the other side of the cockpit's door, she heard a shifting of weight.

"You can come in, you two," Hera called out.

Kanan entered sheepishly. Chopper seemed less than embarrassed at having been caught eavesdropping. He had heard all about Fulcrum's plan to power him down, and he wasn't having any of it. He voiced his displeasure with a series of grunts and a frantic waving of his robotic arms.

"Hey. HEY!" Hera shouted at the little droid, "This is important work, Chopper. Besides which, you can't even feel anything when you're powered down. You'll be online again before you know it."

Chopper mumbled angrily while pointing from Hera to Kanan and back again.

"We are NOT going to be 'playing family' without you."

"Well…" Kanan interjected, rubbing the back of his neck in a show of faux embarrassment, "It kind of sounded like we are."

"If you're going to turn this into something it isn't, I will find a new partner for this mission," Hera hissed.

"Right, right," Kanan teased. "Strictly professional." He cocked his head to the side and grinned, "So… do you want to practice a little before we get there?"

"You're impossible," Hera growled, making sure to get up in his face before she dramatically stormed out. Kanan followed close at her heel.

"I was kidding! Hera, I was kidding! You're not going to replace me, are you?" The sounds of the argument faded into the distance as Hera shut herself in her room.

From the cockpit of the Ghost, a little droid laughed heartily at the display.


	2. And So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera trades the company of her beloved droid for some slightly more annoying acquaintances.

The day of the ‘pleasure cruise’ finally arrived. They’d traded Chopper away two days ago to a contact of Fulcrum’s in exchange for a suitcase filled with a collection of outfits fit for an elected official and her dashing husband. Naturally, Hera would have preferred her astromech’s company to a thousand pretty dresses, but this rebellion would require sacrifices, and a few days apart from her tiny, metal companion was absolutely the least of them to make.

Leaving the Ghost with a total stranger was equally painful. Hera reminded herself again and again that Fulcrum trusted these people, and therefore she ought to as well, but that didn’t stop her from planting several homing beacons in and around her precious ship and burying their corresponding tracking pad half-way across the planet. She told the crew in no uncertain terms that if anything happened to her baby, they’d be ground up so finely the Purrgil would have no trouble digesting them.

Threats aside, Fulcrum’s contacts were more than happy to escort the pair to the Outer Rim meeting point in style. From there, it was just a quick shuttle ride to join the rest of the senators who had already boarded the cruise at its primary port on Coruscant.

The shuttle docked in a surprisingly stylish location. The interior of the ship was cavernous, polished, and classy, with a decoration style reminiscent of the wealth of planets like Alderaan or Naboo, and a soft, warm light that felt almost natural, despite their being situated in the vacuum of space. It felt lightyears away from the rundown towns or mining camps that had been the pair’s most recent destinations. Hera felt compelled to reach out and touch the cold, orange alabaster of the walls, but restrained herself with the notion that such behavior was likely unbecoming of a senator—even one who hardly left her home planet.

The arriving diplomats were let up a short staircase into a much larger chamber where a sort of reception seemed to be taking place behind a stained-glass barrier. A half-dozen protocol droids had positioned themselves in front of the two sloped entry ramps and worked diligently to check in each guest before they were admitted to the party beyond. A convocation of mouse droids stood ready to transport every piece of luggage to its appropriate cabin. Hera selected a line with what looked to be an older model protocol droid and Kanan followed close behind.

“If you would be so kind, would you please extend your boarding pass to be scanned?” the protocol droid asked pleasantly.

Hera did as instructed, and the droid took only a few seconds to process.

“Senator Ditré of the Lithenian System. Welcome. I notice your Imperial identification card lacks a photographic representation. May I insert one presently?”

“No, you may not,” Hera said calmly. “Please understand that my privacy is of the utmost importance to me.”

“Of course,” said the protocol droid. “The comfort of all our guests is our number one priority here on the Starship Rhea. I assume the same preferences apply to your plus one—Colaya C. Ditré. Status: Husband. Am I correct?”

“You are.”

“Excellent. You are now free to roam about the banquet hall. All food and drink are compliments of Emperor Palpatine. Please leave your bags with MSE-6-E481G and receive your personalized code cylinder, which can be used to unlock your cabin doors. Code cylinders are considered the responsibility of the individual senator and their plus one and should not be shared with crew members, droids, or other senators for any reason. Destruction of a code cylinder will result in a small replacement fee. Please enjoy your time with us here on the Starship Rhea and do not hesitate to contact me or any of my fellow crew members at any time should the need arise.”

After following the droid’s instructions to the letter, the two ascended the spiraling ramp and found themselves on the other side of the stained glass. All around them were hundreds of the galaxy’s most influential representatives downing fine wines and brandies. The scene was jovial and relaxed already, but the absolute swarm of diplomats had a positively suffocating effect on the two loners just joining the party. Thankfully, out of the crowd, a voluptuous Sullustan wearing a dress of ruby taffeta and an equally red wig and elaborate head-dress came barreling towards them. 

“Well, hellooooo there, Strangers!” she chirped at them. “I’m going out of my way to introduce myself to every new face this evening, and I don’t believe I’ve seen either of your lovely visages before. To whom may I make my acquaintance?”

For a split second, Hera and Kanan exchanged a puzzled look.

“S-senator Ditré,” Hera responded, feeling somewhat trampled by the woman’s uncompromisingly friendly personality. “And this is…”

“Sir Colaya Ditré,” Kanan interjected, finding Hera’s waist and pulling her close, “Her loving husband of numerous rotations.” He grew bolder with every word. “Perhaps, truly, the luckiest man in the galaxy. At least I like to think of myself that way.”

“Not now… Cole…” Hera chided, creating just a smidgen of distance between them. “The good senator isn’t interested in hearing about our relationship.”

“On the contrary, my dear Ditré, I would love nothing more. You know, I once headed the Committee to Aid the Cerean Repopulation Efforts. Of course, that was long before your time—or even the Empire’s time—but the point stands that I am quite interested in relationships of every sort. Why, I have a motion in talks at this very moment to re-instate the pre-Imperial Goodwill Committee. You know… to create more amicable relations between the systems. I’m testing my methodology presently. Would you mind if I introduced you to Senator Darrus of the Chairon System? Or perhaps Senator Onderus of the Coalition of Aquatic Worlds. There are so many wonderful connections to be made, you know. Here! Introduce yourselves to that group over there. I see new faces again. Ciao, my friends. I will be certain to catch you again in short order!” And with that, the woman disappeared into a different part of the crowd.

Hera’s head was spinning with names and places, none of which she would remember. The woman had said “You know,” a half dozen times, but Hera was absolutely certain she knew far less now than she thought she did a minute ago. She felt temporarily disappointed in her own lack of retention, but a quick glance at Kanan assured her that nearly every word of that diatribe had gone in one ear and out the other.

“We should… follow her advice to mingle,” Hera finally said.

“There was a Cerean Repopulation Effort?” Kanan questioned, finally having loaded the one iota of data that meant the absolute least.

“Hey. Focus,” Hera said, snapping her fingers in his face as though to wake him from some spell.

“Right. Sorry,” Kanan responded, offering his arm in a princely manor, “But really. Cerean Repopulation Effort. You know, Master Ki-Adi-Mundi was from Cerea. Guess I understand why they had so much trouble procreating…”

Without so much as a glance in his direction, Hera elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Ooofh,” Kanan winced, concealing his pain well. “I deserved that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fact that Ki-Adi-Mundi was allowed to have 5 wives despite being a Jedi because his race was going extinct is one of the funniest pieces of Star Wars cannon out there and I will not hesitate to bring it up whenever I'm able. 
> 
> Follow me @Pawpels on Twitter for more Star Wars ridiculousness.


	3. Dumb, Drunk, and Doting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kanan Jarrus does his job just well enough to be truly insufferable.

The rest of the evening went fairly smoothly. The first group they joined turned out to be made up of two couples, all on the younger side, who had known each other for quite some time. It was never made especially clear who among them were and were not senators, though it didn't seem to matter much. They talked freely with each other and worked to politely include Hera and Kanan in the conversation wherever relevant. When politics came up, however, the couples grew slightly more reserved. Eventually, Hera caught on that none among them was especially fond of the Empire, but that such seditious talk was not meant for public discussion. Still, it was an enlightening discovery.

To his credit, Kanan Jarrus played his part well, though Hera wasn't exactly keen on some of his acting choices. If she had to choose three words to describe his performance, she would have to go with "drunk," "dumb," and "doting."

First, Kanan did his best to keep the spirits flowing. She knew by now that his alcohol tolerance was much higher than he was letting on, but the effect of the display was that others around seemed to have much less trouble trusting him than they would a sober querier. People had no qualms about talking politics with the obviously intoxicated nobody who was so clearly uneducated in anything of even vague importance. The real Mr. Ditré, no doubt, would be appalled by such a portrayal. Or… at least Hera hoped he would. If the genuine article were truly as stupid as his simpleminded stand-in, she doubted the real Ms. Ditré would keep him around.

All this, of course, Hera understood and could handle in the moderation required to get results. It was that third trait that she was finding so unbearable as the evening dragged on. Yes, she knew the mission required them to act as husband and wife. Yes, she knew that even with the complete lack of information the Empire had about the pair, it was understood they were incredibly close. Yes, she knew that she had agreed to the mission, and was more than willing to play her part if it meant striking even the smallest blow to the dastardly Empire. What she hadn't signed up for, though, was exactly how clingy the drunken Jedi would be.

He had his sweet moments, sure. She gained a nickname very early in the night that was lost by the end of it. When her cup was empty, he was gone but a second to refill it. He was quick to heed her request every so often for more appetizers, and only ate three-quarters of them himself. At the same time, though, he was obnoxiously handsy. It was a rare moment that the two were not touching in some way. Hands graced hips, hugged shoulders, caressed cheeks, stroked lekku, brushed crumbs from lips, and fluttered above the smalls of backs. When Hera needed a moment to herself, she'd send him on any number of errands, but he still managed to make a nuisance of himself upon the return. At one point, she asked him to fetch a finger sandwich, which he then insisted on feeding to her. After that, she stopped sending him for food.

Well, that and the temperature was dropping.

After a considerable socialization period, the lights of the gallery began to dim ever so slowly, so as to simulate the sunset on worlds which possessed such a light cycle. The senators trickled out of the room through a few obvious passageways that lead to hallways of doors and elevators that lead to lower levels with similar units.

As they vacated the room—taking their body heat with them—Hera found herself grateful for Kanan's toasty embrace. Behania was a fairly tropical planet, and the senator's wardrobe reflected as such. She made a mental note to check her luggage for something warmer as soon as possible, as the chill was already getting to her.

Hera elected to leave before too much of the crowd had dispersed, though Kanan feigned a heartbroken goodbye to their current companions that she guessed might truly be addressed to the complementary booze and finger foods that could not follow them to their cabin.

They held up their code cylinder to a conveniently placed holo-map near one set of elevators and the screen indicated which lift to take, and how far to descend.

Kanan whistled, "That's a lot of floors."

"And we're likely going to have to check all of them," Hera grimaced.

"I meant how far down we are," Kanan corrected. "Guess being the senator of the Lithenian system doesn't come with a lot of perks."

He was right, unfortunately. Through the glass of the elevator, they were able to briefly glimpse the change of scenery as they descended into the bowls of the ship. The floors nearest to the ballroom had rich, green walls that shimmered as the lights of candelabras hit. There was considerable space between each door, and it could only be hypothesized that massive suites lay beyond. Just below these, were similarly attired hallways with slightly more frequently occurring rooms. Probably, these were single dormitories, and not suites. Lower floors had cream-colored walls with an entrance every few meters. The lighting was natural and unobtrusive. Things felt comfortable, but not glamorous.

Finally, they arrived on their level. The walls were a blinding white, and the floors were a polished onyx that was more likely to be linoleum than stone. Everything was spotlessly clean, and the attention to detail was unmistakable; however, the eerie silence of the sound-proof walls, combined with the complete lack of color felt incredibly sterile, as though this were a medical center and not a hotel of sorts. The doors, thankfully, seemed to be spaced about the same as those on the previous levels, but Hera couldn't help but notice that the elevator had opened on two sides this time, instead of just one.

"All it's missing are the Kaminoans," Kanan muttered under his breath, and then said aloud: "Wellllllll, it could be worse, I guess. Truth be told, I was expecting Roach-Rats and mildew—maybe some malfunctioning wall lights to set the mood. This is… nice. It's nice. Rooms look big enough too."

Hera bit her lip. She felt like the Roach-Rat in this situation. She wondered where the scientist with pellets was hiding.

Their trusty code cylinder opened a door about equidistant between the elevators and a small hideaway containing a machine that dispensed beverages. It slid open with a whoosh that revealed the optimism of Kanan's earlier statement.

The room itself was just as pristine as the hallways, but the inner dimensions were almost comical compared to the perceived outer dimensions. It was just barely over two meters in any direction, and three quarters of it was taken up by the bed, which stretched from one wall to another. Closer observation revealed that three out of four walls were filled with drawers and cabinets meant to hold their personal belongings, as well as some odd nooks that she suspected might transform into a desk of some sort. There was about a quarter of a meter of floor space at the front which allowed them walking room between the absolutely miniscule refresher in one direction, and the tiniest frosted-glass fronted shower on its caddy-corner. Hera had seen escape pods less claustrophobic.

Kanan didn't show even a hint of disappointment, though his head nearly touched the ceiling. He let the door whoosh shut behind him, and immediately began to disrobe.

"Do you really have to do that?" Hera complained. She'd learned pretty early on that most women found the shirtless Jedi quite an enticing sight. The fact that parading around the Ghost half-dressed was no longer a successful a tactic hadn't exactly stopped him from doing it, and Hera was more than a little concerned that the constant contact of the earlier evening might have sparked his confidence once again. She was not interested in watching him pout.

"I'm dying in this beek-monkey suit." Kanan tossed the wretched garment aside and plopped dramatically on the bed.

"Put your shirt back on and help me check the room for surveillance equipment."

"I'll help you check the room, but I am not wearing that."

Hera relented, but refused to look at him any more than necessary.

The two patted down every inch of the tiny domicile. After that, Kanan meditated for a bit to make sure they hadn't missed anything. Oddly enough, there was no recording or transmitting technology of any sort. Not in their room, nor—from what he could sense—in any of the others. Even the hallways lacked anything that might oversee the guests. It made their jobs a great deal easier, to be sure, but there was something incredibly troubling about the idea that the goings on aboard this ship were absolutely confidential to anyone not directly witnessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to look up if Monkeys existed in the Star Wars universe. 
> 
> Also, did you know that Womp-Rats are McFreaking HUGE? Luke describes them as being TWO METERS LARGE. Bro. That's a ROUS right there. 
> 
> Follow me on Twitter for weekly rants about how Jedi should be allowed to get married: https://twitter.com/Pawpels


	4. Rodger Rodger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera and Kanan search the ships cargo hold and discover an old acquaintance.

As promised, the mouse droids had delivered their luggage without incident. It was stacked neatly on the bed—a feat she didn't truly believe the little bots to be capable of on their own—and didn't appear to have been touched. Not that there would be any reason to go through their bags, of course. Hera and Kanan hadn't brought so much as a light pen, much less the sort of weapons that might show up on a scan.

Actually, they hadn't even been the ones to pack the bags. Through a network of Fulcrum's contacts, the group with which they'd stashed the Ghost was able to acquire an approximation of the senator's wardrobe, with an appropriately matching collection for her dear husband.

"Just pick something, please," Hera said.

"Terrible… awful… horrible… terrible… horrible…" Kanan complained, as he carelessly chucked previously folded shirts into a pile on the bed. "Do these people never wear sweaters?"

"It's a tropical planet."

"And yet, everything is stiff and long-sleeved."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm going to leave without you."

Hera wasn't exactly empathetic to Kanan's predicament. Her wardrobe consisted almost entirely of dresses that she was quite certain weren't appropriate for a woman of the real Senator Ditré's age. Every single garment was either tight, corseted, or so daring it was almost scandalous. Hera managed to locate just one shirt with long-sleeves—albeit with numerous intentional holes in other less than ideal locations—and made a mental note to wear it to pieces, if she could get away with it.

"Ugh…." Kanan complained as he grabbed a random shirt from the pile. Hera was already out the door, so he dressed as he followed.

"Cargo bay's only three levels down," Hera commented as he approached.

"Good place to start," he agreed.

The two entered the elevator and quickly determined that the buttons didn't allow guests to travel to that level. Thankfully, there were staircases that were more lenient, though far less convenient. Entering the cargo bay was as easy as walking down three flights and exiting through a simple service door. There wasn't even a lock. That being said, it was not the journey down that Hera expected to be the greatest nuisance.

The design of the cargo-hold was quite strange. There were a great many different rooms, inside of which there were a great many different boxes, inside of which there were a great many different items—only one of which was the little astromech Hera hoped to find sooner, rather than later.

The other crates, of course, might contain anything. Food? Drink? Perhaps Spice, or bombs. Nothing was above the Empire, it seemed, and the cruise had already proven to be so perfectly bizarre, there was little reason to suspect anything less strange would be found here.

The two made quick work of the first room. It was almost entirely non-perishable ingredients for the kitchen. It wasn't even necessary to open some of the bins, since the smell of baking essentials was so perfectly evident.

The second room contained more food supplies, and the third as well. The fourth had several large freezer trunks that—while conjuring visions of ice-covered murder victims—contained only fruits and vegetables.

Truly, nothing on this level was out of the ordinary. At least, that had been the case up until the two heard a distant metallic clanking that was disturbingly familiar, yet nearly impossible to place. The noise was… mobile. And it was coming closer.

"Hide," Hera whispered, and the two squished themselves into the dark cubby formed by two large freezers. Kanan positioned himself with his back to the entrance, hopeful that his black coat would help further camouflage the two into the shadows.

For a moment, Hera felt as though the sound of her heart beating was louder than any other noise in the universe. Then, she became aware of Kanan's ragged breathing, so close she could feel it on her skin—warm, but not comforting. Rather, it betrayed how much fear and helplessness he too associated with the noise. Whatever was approaching, it was clearly triggering something in him as well.

Only a few seconds short of an eternity later, the sound had reached its apex. Whatever it was, was barely a meter from their position. In another moment, it would cross them and be gone, the Force permitting. That is, if it didn't spot them first.

Hera dared to sneak a peek around Kanan's torso just in time to catch a glimpse of something gold and metallic. It was a bot just a bit taller than the Jedi, with thin, naked limbs that functioned well enough, but lacked the organic resemblance of protocol droids, or other service workers. It was cold and clunky, and not the least bit elegant. It felt horrifically out of place in contrast to the modern decadence of the rest of the ship, it was so outdated. Still, Hera recognized it instantly, though she hadn't seen one since childhood.

"A battle droid," she breathed, almost noiselessly.

It turned its head instantly.

"Who's there?" it asked in a robotic voice.

Hera cursed. What a stupid mistake. The droid was certain to engage its thermal sensors now—assuming it had them.

"You two!" it shouted, evidentially quick on the uptake, but slow on the specifics. "You're not allowed to be here! Please exit the refrigeration unit."

Hera clenched her fists and made a snap decision—the kind these sorts of droids weren't programed to process very well.

Without a word, she grabbed Kanan around the neck and kissed him. She pulled his hips inwards and pushed hers out until they were uncomfortably intertwined—a singular mass of writhing bodies, gasping for air between open-mouthed warfare of the sweetest kind. She caught a fist full of his hair in an effort to keep his head where she wanted it, but quickly learned she needed no such assurance. He followed her lead without questions—probably too enamored at the physical affection to question her motives—any fear he had been feeling lost to the unexpected pleasure of her lips on his.

"Gross!" the droid shouted, like some sort of incensed child. It immediately turned its optical sensors away from them, and a soft whirring could be heard as it checked and re-checked its programing for how exactly to deal with this situation.

Finally, it gave up and walked away, without even a snarky comment to announce its departure. Apparently, the Jedi of old had never employed such a tactic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try to be more regular about posting updates. If you have any suggestions, comments, critiques, whatever, I love reading what you have to say! I usually end up incorporating things people want to see into my fics if I get good ideas, so lmk. I am fueled by comments.
> 
> Things just keep gettin' stranger and stranger, huh? 
> 
> Also, I know I'm not great at writing fan-service scenes. I'm trying my best here. 
> 
> Follow me @Pawpels on Twitter for a constant barrage of Star Wars tweets and occasional photos of my cats.

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after A New Dawn, but long before Rebels.
> 
> This story is supposed to dip into the mature territory eventually, but it's been pretty slow-going so far. Not sure what people would prefer to read, so leave a comment if you'd rather it be explicitly NSFW, or if you'd prefer it stay more on the SFW side of things. I read every comment! 
> 
> My twitter is https://twitter.com/Pawpels. I talk way too much about Star Wars.


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